by Ali Cross
Ah, but they had to first make room for us, didn’t they? Eleon replied, pride rising in his tone like a flag in the wind.
You were one of them.
This time he answered with a silence of his own. A bulging, boastful silence. I closed my mind to him but followed him down into the trees. A small fire burned in the clearing and a handful of humans sat among the leaves, passing a bottle and a bong between them. I waited for the spark of Asgard to flare in denial of this scene, to urge me to run, to get as far away as possible. I waited, but it didn’t come.
“You comin’?” Eleon held out his hand, and I recognized so much more than a simple invitation. This moment was ripe with choice and the one I made would define me, claim me.
I ignored his hand but stepped past him and into the clearing.
At first the kids were too distracted to notice me, but I embraced the fullness of my dark glory and burned with an upswell of pride in my heritage. I was their princess, their leader. My will was paramount, my words scripture. I stood there, wrapped in my wings like a royal cloak. I felt ten feet tall, and when Eleon stepped in front of the fire and fell to his knees, every one of them followed his example. They fixed their gazes upon me, their eyes aglow with a kind of rapture that made me feel glorious. I spread my wings and when the black tendrils climbed up both my arms until my skin turned as black as coal, I laughed.
My laughter rang through the woods, shaking the trunks of the trees around us; leaves fell and the logs on the fire shifted under the sound of my voice.
chapter nineteen
In the dark woods, I changed. Or, I became who I might have been if I’d never met Miri or Michael. But Michael was gone and Miri had James and even James had become someone new, someone else. Did it really matter what I chose anymore? I searched my heart, the center of my being where I’d hidden the secret of the golden spark my whole lifetime. I searched for it—but it wasn’t there. At least, I couldn’t feel it. And my skin was as black as any First Order demon.
If only Akaros could see me now.
The thought stopped my heart for a moment—did I really mean that? Did I really want Akaros to be proud of me? Then again, I’d killed him, so it didn’t matter one bit what he thought.
I perched atop a boulder, watching Eleon, Taige and the others as they groped at one another and passed their drugs between them. Some of them clung to the sides of the rock, touching me, petting me. At their touch, the burning cold at my wrist raced up my arm and I shuddered with a strange mixture of pleasure and pain. I welcomed the cold and the earth rocked from the force of my Shadow. Trees fell to my left and right. Leaves flew up in a circle around me.
And I laughed.
I lay across Eleon’s lap, watching the flames of the fire dance across Taige’s face. She sat opposite me, her expression a mixture of hate and reverence. She wanted what I could give her, but hated that I’d separated her from Eleon. I really didn’t care.
My phone buzzed in my hip pocket, but I ignored it.
“You’re buzzing,” Eleon said in a low voice.
I ignored him, too.
Eleon slipped his hand into my pocket, pulled out my phone and held it to his ear.
“Desolation’s phone. Go away.” He hung up and tossed the phone to the dirt beside us. It rang again. He snatched it up and shouted, “I said go away—” He held the phone to my ear.
“Desolation,” Knowles said. A shiver ran up my spine that had nothing to do with the cold and everything to do with the dose of reality that hit me as soon as I heard his voice. “You have promises to keep.”
“I’m keeping my promises,” I said, my voice ringing with defiance.
“From where I stand, I can see you’re not keeping the promises I’m talking about.”
I dropped the phone and sat up, looking past the trees to the edge of the woods—to where a dark figure stood. Before my display of power earlier, there would have been trees to hide our little gathering, but I’d knocked so many down, we were practically in plain view.
Just go away, I said to Knowles with a mental shove backward.
He stumbled, but righted himself and stepped forward again.
You won’t let them down like this. You will do as you promised.
A glimmer of warmth flopped in my core like a dying butterfly. Ephemeral, intangible, but I stood up, nonetheless.
I think this is the last time, I told him.
He nodded and turned on his heel. I watched him walk away before I stepped out of the firelight and into the dark trees.
“Hey, where you going?” Taige jumped to her feet and hurried to follow me.
“There’s some place I’ve gotta be.”
“Well, can I go with you?”
I stopped and glared at her. While I watched her face, I Became until I towered above her. “No.”
She opened her mouth, but I didn’t wait around to hear what she might say. I threw myself into the sky and flew away from Eleon and his vamp-pets and toward the last promise I planned to keep.
chapter twenty
When I approached the bridge, the waters above the Door churned like a whirlpool. I had made it in time, but barely. Alighting on the bridge, I forced myself to take several deep, calming breaths.
Knowles had overstepped, talking to me like that. He had no right.
Breathe.
But . . . She’s gonna need more than just me Des. She’s gonna need you. Believe it or not, you’re her best friend.
Breathe.
I couldn’t even remember why I left. Why I thought hanging out with Eleon was better than being with friends.
Breathe.
Then again, I’d never been that girl—that hugging and comforting girl.
Breathe.
I flexed my fingers then curled them tightly around the spear.
Breathe.
I spread my wings, startled when a spark of golden light caught my eye. A ribbon of gold snaked up my right arm and into my wing—but even as the gold tried to claim me, I felt the icy burn start in my wrist. I watched while black Hellfire ate away at my Halo and swallowed it up. I felt . . . Relieved. Like I could stop fighting my shadow-self. Like I’d been right all along—I’d never had a choice in what I would Become.
Breathe.
And then I saw him.
The horse pushed through the waves to the beach, its rider low along its neck. I dove off the bridge and reached them as they struck the sand, water pouring off them in great troughs, leaving both horse and rider thoroughly dry. From each hoof print, black insects rolled away like a tidal wave.
With the spear held along my side, I narrowed my approach and aimed right for the rider. I hoped to knock him off his mount. Maybe the horse would either dematerialize without its rider or it would take off—preferably back to the Door.
I needed to avoid its vicious teeth if I could. And, if the spear flew true—which I felt confident it would—I’d pierce the horseman from above and I’d be out of the way of any blood that might seep from his wounds, in case there was truth in Miri’s warning. The horseman seemed unaware of my approach; intent on reaching the city. I had him.
But in the moment I flew above him, he turned and raised his hand, slicing his scimitar through the air and cutting deep into my right wing. I fell to the sand, screaming in pain and frustration, my mind consumed by blinding pain that seared like a white hot brand through my consciousness.
The horseman wheeled his horse and faced me as I climbed to my feet. Hot embarrassment and fear squeezed out all rational thought. I stumbled forward, struggling to raise the spear as the horseman approached, circling his scimitar in the air. The horse’s red eyes glared, calculating, anticipating.
I felt a million bugs climb over my boots and up my legs, but I refused to look at them. I raised my staff, my muscles trembling with the effort. Pumping my arm, I prepared to throw the spear. The horseman urged his mount into a constant dance, keeping his body from facing mine directly, avoiding my weapon wit
h every move.
The spark had left me. Abandoned me. Maybe I should give up. Maybe I didn’t want to stop the horseman, after all. But for Miri, I would pay this debt. Set things to right and then . . . Well, then I’d leave. I’d tried. Tried to be what Michael thought I should be, but he’d been wrong. This was who I was.
Who I’d been all along.
The spearhead is deadly to any Gardian, Shadow or Halo. I heard Longinus’ voice in my mind, and I realized—I didn’t need the horseman’s chest to kill him—he probably didn’t have a heart, anyway. I only needed to pierce his skin.
I dropped the spear to the sand, feigning fatigue. I watched him from the corner of my eye, but his hood still hung so far over his face I wondered if he had a face at all. Like I knew he would, the horseman dove, his blade poised to plunge into my chest. I forced myself to breathe, to wait for the moment when the horseman’s arms tensed in preparation for the blow.
Breathe.
With sudden ferocity the demon thrust his blade downward. I matched his speed, grabbed my spear and spun. The spearhead sunk into the horseman below his right shoulder blade, his scimitar, no more than a breath away from my flesh, dropped from his grasp.
The demon made no sound as I pushed the spear deeper, shoving him backward off his mount. The horse reared, and I crouched, angling my good wing over me to avoid being swallowed up in a shower of sand and bugs. Its razor-sharp hooves clawed my wing, bruising, tearing. The horse screamed and I felt my eardrums pop and my ears fill with hot liquid. When the barrage of blows stopped, I risked a glance and found the horse gone—the demon laying a few yards away.
He lay on the sand, his arms outstretched as if pinned to an invisible cross, his chest rising with jagged breaths. Black, viscous fluid seeped from his back, the sand transforming into pebbles of glass wherever his blood ran.
I crawled forward with care, trying to ignore the burning that dug deep deep deep into my soul. My spear lay beside him—he must have pulled it out, but it didn’t matter. The damage had been done. This demon would die.
With trembling fingers I dialed Cornelius.
“It’s done,” I told him.
“Is he dead?” he asked.
“No, but he’s about to be.”
There was a pause and a low rumble of voices in the background.
“Reginald says to not kill him. He wishes to interrogate the rider, if possible. We are on our way.” He hung up before I had a chance to argue.
With a sigh I crouched at the demon’s feet. I felt relieved they would be coming for me—I couldn’t have made the flight home, injured as I was. The creature before me did not stir, his breathing so erratic and slow I felt certain he would die before Knowles arrived to ask his questions. But I had one question of my own. I leaned forward, intent on the shadowy hood that still hid his face from view.
The demon moved so suddenly I had no time to react. Sharp pain radiated from a single, burning spot in my chest where the spear—my spear—had been buried deep.
But that pain faded away as another, deeper hurt took hold of my heart.
The horseman’s hood had fallen back. His black eyes pinning me more effectively than the spear had.
Because oh.
Oh.
His was the face I dreamed about. A face I kissed and touched and loved every night in my dreams.
But not like this. Never like this—cold and hollow in the guise of a demon.
His lips curved into a vicious sneer as he pushed the spear deeper. I couldn’t scream, couldn’t fight back.
“Michael,” I choked before the tears swallowed me and I lost myself to oblivion.
chapter twenty-one
The breath of Hell, cold and biting, skiffed off the ocean.
The water rushed in, threatening to drag me into the deep.
I tried to jump to my feet, panic washing over me with the tide, but agony gripped me and I fell forward, swallowing bitter water. With one hand braced against the shifting sand I looked up. Through the curtain of my hair I saw him, close enough I could crawl to him. Touch him. The wave caught his robes and tugged him closer to me as it rushed back to the sea. One hand drifted in a tide pool and when his face fell toward me I cried out in a different sort of pain.
A burst of fire lit my heart—not enough to fill me, but it cleared my mind a little. Grounded me. I took a deep breath and rocked back onto my heels. I gripped the slippery wood of the staff with numb fingers and braced myself for what I was about to do. I took another breath.
And another.
On the last I held my breath and yanked on the staff with all my might. My vision burst with black.
“Can you do that? Will it . . . break it or something?” James’ voice arrived in my mind like a fallen leaf. I didn’t know where it came from or what it was doing there. It just was.
“It matters not—it is the only way,” Longinus said.
Hands on my shoulders pushed me upward and I felt myself fall forward onto someone’s shoulder, but everything sucked into the darkness of my mind as the movement seared every crevice of my being with pain.
“Stay with me, Des. Stay with me.” James placed his hand behind my head, pressing my face to his chest. “Oh God. Let her be okay.”
“Hold her tightly. Tightly.”
James tightened his grip on my head and shoulders, his arms wrapped like a vice grip around me.
A sharp jerk, a fresh wave of pain and then, “That’s the spearhead—now move aside, I need to get the staff.”
I worked my eyes open, only a flutter, a quick glimpse. Longinus knelt in front of me, both hands wrapped around the staff that protruded from my chest. His eyes met mine for half a breath. Then he pulled.
Images of the horseman turning into Michael haunted my dreams.
I saw myself stabbing him, over and over again.
I saw him lurching forward and thrusting the spear deep into my chest.
His face shifted between a granite skull and Michael’s pale face.
He was the horseman. He was my love.
The horse drove toward me, nostrils flaring. Black bugs scurried in front of it, crawling up my legs, turning into stone, turning me into stone.
The rider leaned down, and his hood flew back from his face, from Michael’s face. He thrust the spear at me like a lance, pushing it deep into my heart.
And when he smiled it was the gaping maw of a demon.
Great choking sobs racked my body and I had to force them out, force the word out that was caught in my throat, choking me. “Michael!”
“Shh, shh,” Miri soothed, placing a warm hand on my forehead. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”
“Miri.” My throat felt like sandpaper, and I still didn’t dare open my eyes.
“I’m here,” Miri’s words were tinged with relief, but I only felt sorrow. I’d hoped I had died. Hoped I had been sent to Hell. Even exiled to the lowest tier would be better than living with the truth.
That my love had become a demon.
That I had killed him.
Twice.
“Longinus,” I said in a hoarse croak.
“He’s here,” Miri said, followed by some hushed whispers I couldn’t catch.
“Lady,” Longinus said in that horribly reverent tone he sometimes used with me.
I reached out and he took my hand, clasping it between both of his.
I opened my eyes, finding his instantly. I squeezed his hands, hard, and made sure he saw every whit of meaning in my gaze as I said, “You should have let me die.” It came out as a twisted curse, a promise of death.
I closed my eyes and leaned back against the pillow behind my head, pleased with the empty silence that followed.
When I woke again, Miri wasn’t with me. Instead I found myself in a near-dark room, the only light coming from a narrow candlestick on the nightstand beside my head. I kept my eyes focused on the ceiling—I didn’t care to talk to anyone. Didn’t care to hear their words of worry and love, their e
ncouraging pleas to come back to them. I didn’t want to go back to them. I wanted to die, to be punished.
I was not what Michael thought of me. Not what my mother and the other members of The Hallowed—even Odin himself—hoped I would be. I am a demon. A murderer. I am desolation. This became my new mantra.
After a moment I became aware—I was not alone.
The chair sat empty.
I lay in a bed—not my own nor James’ or Miri’s.
Slowly I turned my head to the right—and I saw him.
His oh so pale face.
“Michael.” His name spilled out of me over and over again while I cried a whole river of sorrow and need that had no end. The golden spark that had been missing the past few days sputtered to life as I watched him through my tears. With great care I turned toward him, searching for some sign that he still lived.
On his cheek, up toward his temple, black runes, the dark language of Helheimer, marred my beloved’s face. The symbols marked him my father’s. Marked him a chattel of Hell.
He lay so still; his breath rattling as it moved through his chest and out his mouth.
I curled into a ball, as much as the small bed and my aching chest would allow, so I could watch him. Watch, but not touch. I waited. I don’t know how long, I only remember watching him for some sign, some indication that he would live and that he still knew me. That he was still Michael. Still my Michael. But there was only stillness. The barest of breaths, and his pale, pale face lax as if in sleep. Or death. When Miri slipped her skinny arm around my shoulders and hugged me to her, my body felt as stiff and immovable as stone.
I watched as Longinus checked Michael’s throat for his pulse. As he peeled back the blanket to inspect the wound in his shoulder. My stomach roiled when I saw his body with limbs that hung limp and his head lolling back on his neck. I had killed him.
I had done more than send him to Hell. More than curse him with shadows. No, that hadn’t been enough. I had actually killed him.
I felt too much and nothing at all. Everything and nothing.
